


Crepe Paper and Ribbons

by IAmTheUnsub



Series: Reddie Au [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bi Eddie Kaspbrak, Comedian Richie, Department store au, F/M, Florist AU, Gay Mike Hanlon, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Richie Tozier is a dumbass, RomCom AU, Visual Merchandiser Stan, florist eddie, giftwrapper eddie, is that even a thing?, wrapping gifts is romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-02-16 10:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheUnsub/pseuds/IAmTheUnsub
Summary: “What? No! Holy shit no, Stan! I’m gay as all hell. I’m in love with your florist and I need to buy something gay because he assumed I was straight and I was too busy staring at him to correct him”, Richie babbles.“Eddie?” Stan questions.“That’s the bitch! I need to have him gift-wrap something super gay for me so I can reveal my gayness is a super organic way, then I’ll swing by the jewellery department to propose. Oh! He can do the flowers for our wedding!” Richie explains, genuinely excited.Based on a prompt from @Iracebeth3 on twitter'Person A is a gift-wrapper at a mall and Person B just keeps buying pointless stuff to try and chat with them'
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Series: Reddie Au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545535
Comments: 38
Kudos: 279





	1. Chanel No.5

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know either tbh. Just indulge my oddly specific AU.  
> Also please send me ideas for things for Richie to buy. All mine are dirty and this doesn’t feel like that kind of fic 😂

“Perfume, perfume, perfume…”

  
“Are you looking for the perfume?”

Richie jumps, head swivelling away from the store directory to look at the man now standing beside him. He’s gorgeous, in a snobby, polished way. He’s got a neatly styled head of blonde curls and flawless skin. Like all the other employees at this store, he’s not in uniform. He’s wearing an expensive-looking, black suit, and there's an honest to god pocket square with what looks like tiny birds embroidered on it sticking out of the breast pocket. That’s how fancy this store is. Despite being pretty well-off, Richie feel out of place. Should he be wearing a suit? Does he even own a suit? He’d have to ask his assistant later. The only reason Richie can tell that the guy works here is the sleek, silver name tag pinned to his lapel proclaiming him to be _‘Stanley Uris- Visual Merchandiser’_. What the fuck even is a visual merchandiser? He’d have to ask his assistant later. 

  
“Sir”, Richie realises he’s been too busy taking the guy in to answer his question.

“Oh! Um, It’s Richie, please. Yeah, I’m on a perfume based quest. What gave me away? The insane ramblings?” Richie jokes, trying to pierce the thick, overly-formal atmosphere. 

“More so the smell, sir”, Stan replies, stone-faced. 

Richie stares at him, jaw hanging loose, for a second. Then he starts cackling and claps the other man on the shoulder. Richie thinks he sees the corner of Stan’s mouth quirk up. 

“Stan the Man! Forget the perfume, show me to the pharmacy aisle, I need some aloe vera for that burn!” Richie crows, he uses the hand on Stan’s shoulder to steer him away down the aisle to their left, “Seriously though, please show me where the perfume is, I’m so lost”.

Stan ducks out from under Richie’s arm, takes a hold of his wrist and turns around, leading Richie in the opposite direction. They pass through the clothing department, the jewellery department and the makeup department before reaching a section that immediately made Richie nervous. It was full of very breakable glass bottles and a cacophonous smell that almost immediately overwhelms him. He stares at Stan with wide eyes, silently begging for guidance. Stan just guides him up to another employee, this time a tall, broad man with dark skin and wide smile. His whole face lights up when he sees Stan and he stands a little straighter.

Stan holds Richie’s wrist out to the new man, who takes it with a puzzled look on his face. 

“Mike, this is Richie, can you please help him choose some perfume?”

Understanding dawns on Mike’s face and he nods. 

“Sure thing, Stan”.

Stan smiles and turns to walk away. Richie looks to Mike. 

“Should I tip him? I should tip him, right?” he asks.

“It’s up to you, man. It’s not mandatory but we’re saving for our wedding so I’m sure he’d appreciate it”, Mike shrugs.

Richie nods and frees his wrist from Mike’s gentle grasp, chasing after Stan and pulling his wallet out at the same time. His long legs eat up the distance and he catches up to the other man before he’s even left the perfume department.

“Stan the Man! Wait up! Here, twenty for showing me the way and thirty for the absolutely flawless burn”, Richie hands him a fifty-dollar bill with a flourish and a cheesy grin.

Stan looks down at the bill in his hands, eyes widening for a second before he schools his features into a demure smile. 

“Thank you, Sir. I hope Mike can help you find what you’re looking for”, Stan accepts the tip with grace, then finally escapes. 

When Richie returns to Mike, his eyebrows are raised.

“When you said a tip, I thought you meant like ten bucks!”

“Nah, this store is too fancy for that! Plus, he saved my ass, Mikey. I’d have wandered around for hours if he hadn’t hand delivered me to you”, Richie replies, placing his own wrist back into Mike’s hand. 

“Yeah, not gonna lie, man, I thought he was proposing a threesome”, Mike shoots back with a grin. Richie explodes into giggles.

“He do that often?” Richie manages to ask through laughter. 

“Depends on how many tequila shots he has, to be honest”, Mike responds in a thoughtful tone, “Anyway, I should do my job. Perfume?”

“Perfume!” Richie agrees. 

Silence. Mike stares at Richie expectantly and Richie stares back, clueless.

“Do you have any idea what you want?” Mike questions hopefully.

“None at all. Completely fucking lost over here, dude”, Richie tells him.

“Okay, that’s alright. How about you tell about who it’s for? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Mom? Mistress? Please tell me it’s not a mistress”, Mike begs playfully. 

“Oh Christ, no. It’s for my friend, Bev. Her fashion line's new collection has its first catwalk show this weekend and we’re all buying her something to wear. Her boyfriend got her some jewellery and our other friend Bill got her some shoes so I’m on perfume duty”, Richie explains.

“Okay, cool. I can work with that. Do you have a budget in mind?” Mike asks, already looking around and narrowing down the less romantic options.

“Not really. I mean, not to sound like a dick, but money’s not really an issue. Ben bought her diamonds and Bill bought her those super expensive heels with the red bottoms, so I need to match the vibe, you know?” 

“Yeah, I get you. Do you know what kind of smell profile she’d go for? Fruity? Floral? Musky?” Mike lists. 

“So, my choices are fruit bowl, flower bed or armpit? I think I’ll go for flower bed”, Richie says, confused about who would want to smell musky.

“Well, if you want to keep up the classic designer theme, I’d probably recommend a bottle of Chanel number five?”, Mike leads Richie over to a tasteful, understated podium of clear glass bottles filled with amber liquid. 

“I’ll take that one, that’s more impressive than diamonds, right?” Richie asks, pointing to the largest bottle with his free hand.

“I don’t think I can answer that, Richie. I’d take a Barnes and Noble gift card any day”, he grabs the bottle and walks Richie to the small cash register in the corner, releasing Richie’s wrist to ring him up “that’ll be two hundred and thirty dollars, you want this gift wrapped?”

“Please. Last time I tried to wrap a present I taped my hand to my own face”, Richie jokes, relieved, as he hands over his credit card. Mike laughs, but Richie hopes he knows it wasn’t a joke.

“I feel you, man. I’m awful at it too, can’t tie a bow to save my life. I’ll go get our in-house florist, the man can do insane things with crepe paper and ribbons. You alright to wait here?”, Mike swipes Richie’s card and hands him his receipt. 

“Sure thing, I’m in no rush”, Richie assured him.

Mike walks off and Richie takes out his phone. He scrolls mindlessly through Instagram, follows an account of a Pomeranian wearing cute costumes, likes Ben’s latest post (an artful black and white shot of Bev curled up in an overstuffed armchair with a coffee mug pressed between her palms), then likes a fan photo of him on stage the night before, taken from an unflatteringly low angle. He screenshots it and makes it his profile picture.   
When he looks up again, there’s an angel behind the counter. Like, a literal fucking angel. The most gorgeous guy Richie’s ever seen, and he walked past Oscar Isaac once at a premiere. The guy’s hair is neatly combed down but there’s what looks like a flower petal stuck in it, right above his left ear, it takes so much willpower for Richie to not reach out and pluck the petal out. There’s a gnarly scar on his check, but Richie follows the line of it down to a chiselled, clean-shaven jaw. Richie suddenly realises he’s gawping at the guy like an idiot and he isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there, but he hopes it hasn’t been too long, seeing as the guy hasn’t set the rolls of paper in his arms down yet. He smiles when he meets Richie’s eyes, shifts the paper into the crook of one muscular arm and holds his hand out for Richie to shake. Richie takes a second to shake off the awe and reach for him.

“Hi, I’m Eddie”, the angel introduces himself, gripping Richie’s hand firmly in his own. Richie tries not to imagine where else that firm grip could go. He fails. 

“Hi Eddie”, Richie repeats dumbly. Eddie just smiles indulgently and lets Richie keep shaking his hand, probably used to people being stunned into stupidity by his beauty.

“Do you have a name?” He asks teasingly. 

“Oh shit, yeah, Richie! Sorry”, Richie apologises, finally letting go of Eddie’s hand. Eddie makes a show of playfully shaking his wrist out and flexing his fingers, then puts his supplies down on the table. 

“No worries, buying gifts is stressful, I get it”, Eddie shrugs and picks up the perfume, “ooh! Fancy, must be for someone special”.

“Yeah Bev’s great. I don’t know if Mike told you, but she’s got her first fashion show this weekend. I’m just so proud of her, you know? She’s worked so hard and she really deserves this”, Richie rambles nervously, just needing something to say to stop himself from hitting on the florist while he’s working. 

“She sounds awesome, she seems lucky to have you as a boyfriend”, Eddie says, smile softer this time.

“Yeah, she’s great- wait, what? No she-” Richie protests.

“Is purple and silver good?” Eddie asks, holding up a roll of purple paper and a spool of silver ribbon. 

“Uh… yeah, yeah that’s fine”, as soon as Richie confirms it, Eddie’s hands are a blur, scissors flashing. Richie watches in wonder as, barely a minute later, Eddie presents him with a beautifully wrapped package, complete with a perfect silver bow on top. Richie takes it and inspects it.

“How the fuck…”

“When you make bouquets for a living, a rectangular box is a nice break”, Eddie explains with a proud grin. He checks his watch and winces, “Sorry, but I really need to head back to the flower counter. I left Mike in charge and he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. I hope your girl likes the perfume”, Eddie reaches across the counter to shake Richie’s hand again, then gathers up his supplies and walks off. He gets about four steps away before Richie remembers that he should pay him for his work.

“Wait”, Richie fishes another fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and jogs after Eddie, then realises his hands are full, so he just awkwardly tucks it into his apron like he’s the tamest stripper ever, “thank you, man, really, you probably saved me a serious scissor-related injury”.

“You don’t have to do that, Richie. Seriously, it only took me, like, a minute”, Eddie tries to free up a hand to retrieve the bill and return it, but his rolls of paper wobble precariously and he’s forced to put both hands on them again. 

“Nope! Can’t make me take it back! Actually, here, give this one to Mike too!”, Richie tucks yet another fifty into the apron.

“Richie, stop! You’ll bankrupt yourself”, Eddie protests, but he’s grinning, so Richie figures he doesn’t really mind. 

“Impossible! I have stocks in Blockbuster, I’ll be rich forever!” Richie crows in his most pompous voice. Eddie throws his head back and laughs, free and loud. Richie finds himself awestruck by this man for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes. When Eddie calms down, he speaks again.

“Seriously though, it’s really generous, but I can’t accept it, Richie”

“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour. The more expensive I can say this was, the more impressed Bev will be” Richie explains, holding up the gift. 

Eddie’s smile falters slightly and he straightens up.

“Right, well… Thank you. If you want to treat her to flowers, you know where to come”, Eddie finally walks away.

Richie is left standing there, wondering how the atmosphere had changed so suddenly. Then he remembered that Eddie had called Bev his girlfriend and Richie hadn’t had a chance to correct him. 

“Shit”, Richie groans.

Only one man can help him now. 

* * *

“Stan!” Richie calls out to the other man as he slides into the aisle, almost losing his footing before he catches himself on the edge of a display rack.

Stan looks up from where he’s dressing a mannequin in a long dress that Richie idly thinks has way too many buttons to be practical. Stan looks puzzled at first, then he recognises Richie and his face smooths over into a mask of professionalism. He straightens up and faces Richie, who’s out of breath and panting, having just run all over the building searching for him.

“Richie, what can I do for you. I see Mike helped you find your gift?” he asks calmly, as if sweaty, panting comedians were common customers for him.

“Oh he was great. Awesome guy. Wants us to have a threesome”, he ignores Stan’s suddenly red face and continued, “but that’s not why I’m here, sorry. What’s the gayest thing in the store?”, Richie asks. Stan’s professional demeanour drops, and suddenly he’s stone-faced. 

“If you’re about to make some sort of joke about myself or Mike, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir”, he grits out through clenched teeth. 

“What? No! Holy shit no, Stan! I’m gay as all hell. I’m in love with your florist and I need to buy something gay because he assumed I was straight and I was too busy staring at him to correct him”, Richie babbles. Stan’s face remains guarded, but he relaxes a little. 

“Eddie?” he questions. 

“That’s the bitch! I need to have him gift-wrap something super gay for me so I can reveal my gayness is a super organic way, then I’ll swing by the jewellery department to propose. Oh! He can do the flowers for our wedding!” Richie explains, genuinely excited. 

Stan looks at him, blinks slowly, then turns his back to start dressing the mannequin again.

“Stan? Stanley? Stan the Man? Stannington Stanworth? I’ll give you the biggest tip you’ve ever seen… Don’t tell Mike though”, Richie waggles his eyebrows flirtatiously.

Stan wavers for a second, hands pausing for slightly too long between buttons. Richie latches onto to the tiny action with fervour. 

“Yeah! Mike said you two are planning your wedding, right? Weddings are super expensive, Stan! If you help me gate a date with Eddie then I’ll pay for your venue, anywhere you want!” Richie offers desperately. 

Stan turns back to him, looks him up and down coolly.

“Venue, entertainment, bar and cake. Plus I can’t guarantee a date, but I’ll gladly offer my services”, Stan counter-offers, holding his hand out for Richie to shake.

“Do I look like I’m made of money?!” Richie blanches.

“You literally chased me down and handed me fifty dollars just for showing you where the perfumes are”, Stan deadpans, one eyebrow raised as if daring Richie to argue.

“…Venue, entertainment and cake, you can go fuck yourself with the bar” Richie acquiesces, grabbing Stan’s hand and shaking it vigorously.

“Pleasure doing business with you”, Stan says with a smirk that makes Richie think he might have been played.   



	2. Operation: Reddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan, Mike and Richie come up with a strategy. 
> 
> “Yes! Eddie soon-to-be-Tozier. The love of my life” Richie laments, sighing wistfully.  
> “You don’t know his second name do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a two-shot but this chapter has kind of become filler? And now Bev's involved?! Whoops. 
> 
> Reminder: Ya boi has dyslexia, please point out any mistakes.

In a testament to the other man’s frightening organisational skills, less than an hour after he’d first entered the store, Richie finds himself seated in Stanley’s office. Mike is sitting beside him and Stan himself is cleaning off a whiteboard covered in fabric swatches and sketches of window displays. Stan removes it all and piles it neatly on his desk. He takes out a marker and writes **_‘PROJECT FREE WEDDING’_** in block capitals at the top of the board. He turns to face Mike and Richie. 

“I have… no idea what’s happening right now”, Mike pipes up, understandably confused. 

“Richie’s paying for like seventy percent of our wedding because he’s obsessed with Eddie”, Stan replies.

“What? No, Stan we can’t take that amount of money from someone, it’s not right!” Mike immediately protests, horrified. 

“Babe, I need you to think about this very carefully. We’ve been saving for three years and we’re still nowhere near having the cash for the wedding we want. You want that hotel on Santa Monica beach, right?” Stan asks, taking Mike’s hands in his own.

“Well, yeah bu-”

“That place is thirty grand alone, plus suits, plus décor, plus a cake”, Stan interrupts. 

“Yeah, but we’ve already saved twenty-five thousand!” Mike tries to justify his position.

“And it took over three years, Mike! I don’t want to wait another three years to marry you” Stan pleads, Mike's eyes soften, but he doesn't back down.

“So we take advantage of a customer?” Mike retorts, trying to appeal Stan's professionalism.

“Dude, not thirty minutes ago you charged me two hundred dollars for some smelly water”, Richie points out.

“Plus Richie’s loaded! He was on SNL. He’s doing a Christmas movie with Anna Kendrick, for god’s sake!” Stan explains, pointing their still-joined hands at Richie.

“You recognised me? Why didn’t you say anything?” Richie asks, surprised.

“That’s not professional”, Stan explained.

“Nothing about this situation is professional, Stan!” Mike snaps. 

“Woah! Listen, Mike, I’m happy to put up the rest of the money for your wedding. I just really want a chance with Eddie and I need your help. Do it for love, Mike!”

“You don’t think this is a little intrusive? Going behind Eddie’s back to try and get a date with him?" Mike rounds on Richie now. Desperately appealing for someone to have some common sense.

“I’m not going behind his back! I’m just trying to brainstorm some ideas here, man!” Richie baulks, trying to explain his totally innocent intentions. He hadn't realised he may be coming across as a creep.

Stan squeezes Mike's hands to draw his attention again. Once he has it, he smiles softly at him.

“Mike, this isn’t that big of a deal. We play matchmaker, Richie helps us out with our wedding. If it doesn’t work out, then we won’t take the money”

  
Mike looks to Richie for backup, but Richie just smiles brightly and nods at him. When Mike doesn’t speak again, Stan moves back to the board and writes _**‘GAY THINGS’**_. Mike, still completely lost, decides to go with it. He stands, gently takes the marker from Stan, and draws two stick figures, (one with curly hair), holding hands. He labels them _‘Stan’_ and _‘Me’._ He looks back at Richie for a second, then adds a third stick figure a little ways away from the first two, this one with big cartoonish glasses. He labels it _‘Richie?’_ then erases the question mark when Richie shoots him a thumbs up. Stan watches the whole exchange with soft eyes. He kisses the corner of Mike’s mouth and takes the marker back. 

  
“Thank you, darling, but that’s not entirely what I meant.”

“I figured. I just wanted to contribute”, Mike shrugs, taking his seat beside Richie again. 

“Killer contribution, man. I’ve never looked so good”, Richie quips. 

“Thanks. So, Eddie?” Mike asks, turning to face Richie.

“Yes! Eddie soon-to-be-Tozier. The love of my life” Richie laments, sighing wistfully.

“You don’t know his second name do you?” Stan questions. 

“…Roberts? No that’s stupid. Daniels? Marks? Why am I only picking first names?” Richie tries.

“It’s Kaspbrak”, Mike offers, if only to put Richie out of his misery. 

“Oh I never would have guessed that. That’s a stupid fucking name, he’s not keeping that. Wait, does Richie Kaspbrak sound better than Eddie Tozier. Should we hyphenate? Tozier-Kaspbrak? Kaspbrak-Tozier?” Richie asks, eyes frantically darting between Mike and Stan. 

“You have to be able to talk to him before you can change his surname, you absolute cretin” Stan deadpans, palm pressed despairingly to his forehead.

“I’m still not sure what we’re doing, man” Mike says, shoulders and voice both shaking with the effort of holding in laughter.

“Right! Mike still doesn’t know what’s up. Basically, I’m a disaster gay, talked about my friend Bev in front of your hot florist and now he thinks I like women. I’m paying for a shitload of the happiest day of your life in exchange for you counteracting my idiocy and also being one of your best men”, Richie explains.

“I didn’t agree to that” Stan interjects.

“We’ll talk about it later. I look good in a suit” Richie waves him off.

“Noted”, Stan acquiesces after looking him up and down. 

“So… gay things?” Mike asks.

“Yes! I need to have Eddie wrap some super gay things for me so he knows I’m also super gay”, Richie tells him matter-of-factly, as if anything he's said makes sense.

Mike just nods indulgently, then something occurs to him.

  
“Wait… Is Eddie even gay?” he asks, genuine confusion on his face. 

Stan and Richie look to each other, horrified.

“I don’t know. I always just assumed. Has he ever talked about a girl to you?” Stan asks Mike.

“Well, no. But has he ever talked about a guy either?” Mike shoots back. 

“Guys, this is already embarrassing enough for me, if he turns out to be straight I think I might spontaneously combust” Richie whines.

“Well, how do we find out? We can’t just come right out and ask him, right?” Mike reasons. 

“I definitely can’t, I’m technically his boss so I’m pretty sure it’d be some form of sexual harassment”, Stan agrees.

“And I’m a stranger, so it would just be creepy if I asked him”, Richie adds. 

  
Richie and Stan turn to look at Mike in perfect unison. He doesn't even argue; just sighs and leaves the office. 

* * *

  
“Hey Eddie?”

Eddie looks up from the set of bridesmaid’s bouquets he’s working on (white and blue, a tacky colour scheme if you asked him) to see Mike. He’s leaning awkwardly against Eddie’s cash desk. Eddie smiles warmly at him before looking back to his work.

“Oh, hey Mike, What’s up?” he asks. 

“Not much. Just… you know. Same old, same old”, Mike tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it just comes off as anxious. 

“Yeah? I don’t think I’ve seen you away from the perfume department this much in one day”, Eddie jokes, Mike laughs nervously and tries to ignore the weird look Eddie shoots him.

There’s an awkward silence.

  
“Oh fuck it, are you gay?” Mike blurts out before he can stop himself.

“What?” Eddie drops his bouquet in shock.

“Are you gay?” Mike repeats, unsure where the bravery comes from.

“Why are you asking me this?”, Eddie asks, cautious.

“…A survey?” Mike tries.

“A survey” Eddie parrots, completely unconvinced. 

“Look, are you gay? Yes or no, man. Help me out here” Mike begs.

“Uh, no. I’m not gay”, Eddie replies slowly, still confused.

  
Mike nods and turns to leave, ready to wave goodbye to the dream wedding he and Stan have been trying to save up for. He's surprised to find that he’s dreading Richie’s heartbroken face more than Stan’s disappointment.

“I’m bi though… if that helps with your 'survey'?” Eddie calls after him. 

  
Mike turns around, seeing Eddie fiddling with the flowers he had dropped, straightening out the rumpled petals and decidedly avoiding eye contact.

  
“Oh…Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, Eddie”, Mike thanks him gently and with a wide smile. 

“Um, no problem, I guess?” Eddie replies, but Mike is already gone, running off in the opposite direction of the perfume department.

* * *

  
Stan and Richie are talking quietly, flipping through Stan’s wedding planning binder when the door swings open, thumping violently against the wall. They both jump, staring incredulously at Mike as he enters the room. Mike ignores them, walking right up to the board and adding another stick figure, this one holding a flower and labelled _‘Eddie’._ Above its head he writes _**‘BI THINGS’.**_

He spikes the marker onto the ground (re-capped to avoid marking Stan’s carpet, he doesn’t have a death wish).

“IT’S ON BITCHES!” he crows in celebration. 

Richie launches off the couch and pulls Mike into a hug, hooting and hollering with glee. 

“Well, let’s get to work then”, Stan says, apparently back to being the voice of reason. 

* * *

  
“Hey Eddie, can you do a wrap job for me?”

  
Eddie, right in the middle of tying a very intricate bow with the hideous blue ribbon his current bridal client has chosen, doesn’t even look up. He grunts to let Stan know he’s listening to him, but doesn’t offer anything else. 

  
“Don’t worry, he gets like this when he’s concentrating”, he hears Stan say. 

Embarrassed that he hasn’t realised Stan has someone with him, Eddie finally looks up. There, standing beside Stan, is the customer from earlier.

“Richie, hi!” Eddie exclaims, hoping he doesn’t come off as too eager. 

Richie grins widely and gives Eddie an aborted little wave. Stan elbows him, but he still doesn’t speak.

“So, you want something else wrapped?” Eddie asks. 

Richie just stares at him blankly for a second before he snaps out of it. 

“Oh! Yeah, please. I mean, if you aren’t busy. You're probably busy, it's fine, I’ll just go. Bye, Eddie!” He says so quickly that the words all blend together.

  
Richie turns on his heel and runs away, leaving Eddie and Stan staring after him, dumbfounded. Eddie turns to Stan with a clear question on his face. Stan looks back at him with a perfectly blank face.

  
“He… must have remembered something else he needs to buy. We’ll be back later. Goodbye, Eddie.”

  
Stan turns and follows after Richie. Eddie returns to his ugly ribbon, wondering when Stan became a personal shopper. 

* * *

  
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!”, Stan explodes, storming into his own office. 

Richie doesn’t raise his head from where it’s cradled in his hands. Mike is sympathetically rubbing his back. 

“Was it really that bad?” Mike asks optimistically.

“Bad? It was a complete shitshow, Mike! He gawped at him like a fish and then ran away!” Stan exclaims, hands gripping at his hair in frustration.

“Oof, jesus Richie” Mike winces sympathetically. 

“I know! I don’t know what happened. He’s, like, intimidatingly good looking!” Richie wails.

“You're hopeless. I didn’t know how hopeless you were before I agreed to this. I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore”, Stan laments. 

“Think of the beachfront wedding, babe”, Mike reasons. 

Stan nods, taking a deep, steadying breath.

“You’re right, we’ll just have to rethink this. The thing you’re buying will just have to do the talking for you”, Stan decides.

Stan turns to his board and examines their updated list. 

_**GAY THINGS** _   
_Nail polish (Make it clear it’s for you)_   
_Torchwood DVD (talk about how cute Jack and Ianto are)_   
_Jockstrap_   
_Short-shorts_   
_Pinot Grigio_

“None of this is gay enough. Even if you bought it all at once you’d be hopeless” Stan declares. 

“Do you sell dildos?” Richie finally chips in.

“We do, but that’s a bad idea, he might still think you're straight but that your dick doesn’t work”, Mike muses.

“Oh damn, no we need him to know my dick works, it’s like half of my selling points” Richie baulks.

Stan and Mike exchange pointed glances. 

“Hopeless, I swear to God. Fuck it. Mike, we’re waiting another year!” Stan says, ready to throw in the towel

“No, no, no! wait just a second, what if I sweetened the pot?” Richie offers desperately. 

  
“I’m listening”, Stan concedes. 

“Pass me your wedding binder, I’ll pick something out”, Richie holds out his hand and Stan drops the file into it.

  
Richie examines the little labelling tabs for a second, then flips to the section labelled _‘Suits’_. The page is covered in fabric swatches in white, black, grey and lilac and pictures of suits cut out from fashion magazines. Richie is surprised to recognise that all of the suits are from Bev’s earliest collections. 

  
“Oh wow, you really like Bev’s stuff”, Richie comments mildly. When Stan doesn’t reply, Richie looks up to see the other man staring at him, slack-jawed. He turns to ask Mike what’s wrong, only to see him staring at Richie with the exact same look on his face. 

“What? Have I got something on my face?”, Richie asks, suddenly self-conscious. He starts swiping at his face.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t, at any point, think to mention that your friend ‘Bev’ is BEVERLY FUCKING MARSH”, Stan screams, incredulous. 

“Uh, I didn’t really think it mattered” Richie replies.

Stan crosses the room to sit beside Richie. In what Richie believed to be an uncharacteristic show of familiarity with a practical stranger, Stan takes Richie’s face between his hands. 

“Richie?” he asks.

“Yes, Stan?” Richie replies, voice slightly muffled by the pressure Stan is putting on his cheeks. 

“I swear to you, I will marry you off to Eddie, I will walk you down the aisle, I will officiate your fucking wedding. All you have to do is get Beverly Marsh to agree to make my wedding suit” Stan vows.

“Hey!” Mike interjects, unhappy that he’d been forgotten.

“And Mike’s wedding suit”, Stan adds without missing a beat.

Richie takes a moment to think about it. He considers Bev’s packed schedule, her upcoming show and her shitbag ex-husband who convinced her to stop designing menswear and thinks about saying no. Then he remembers that she’s threatened him with a singles cruise if he didn’t hurry up and find himself a man. He holds one finger up to Stan. 

“Can you give me a sec? I’m just going to call Bev and run this by her”, he requests.

Stan releases Richie and nods dumbly. 

“You’re going to call Beverly Marsh, right now?” he asks.

“Yeah, man. Do you want to say hi?” Richie offers. 

Stan backs away, shaking his head. When Richie pulls out his phone, Stan squeaks out a high pitched little noise, turns on his heel and leaves the room. Richie turns to Mike, confusion clear on his face. 

“She’s his idol, dude. He wrote his thesis on her designs”, Mike answered with a shrug.

“That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Oh my god, Bev’s going to love this”, Richie coos, already scrolling through his contacts.

“I’ll go check on him, give you some privacy”, Mike chuckles, following his fiancé out of the room and closing the door behind him as Richie waves goodbye.

* * *

The phone only rings twice before Bev picks up. 

_“This had better be important, Trashmouth. I’m surrounded by models who need dressed right now”_ , Bev’s voice is tense but not harsh.

“And you’re complaining? God Bevvy, fame has changed you”, Richie jokes. 

_“Shut up, turn around hun”_ , she demands.

“What?” Richie squawks, jumping up to look over his shoulder in case she’s developed some freaky sixth sense and there’s a fucking murderer behind him.

 _“Not you, Rich. Zipping up one of the girls, sorry. What do you want?”,_ Bev asks.

“I’m in love, Beverly”, Richie sighs melodramatically. 

_“I swear to god, if this is another limited edition Frappuccino, I’ll find whatever Starbucks you’re at and burn it down”,_ She threatens, voice completely serious. 

“Wow, you a little stressed over there?” Richie asks, hiding his concern behind a teasing tone.

 _“I’m surviving on coffee and hope right now”_ , Richie can tell by her muffled voice that she’s holding some pins between her teeth. 

“Ouch, want me to swing by with lunch later?” Richie hisses sympathetically.

 _“Burgers and milkshakes?_ ”, Bev requests, voice full of undisguised longing. 

“You know it”, He agrees.

 _“I love you, now tell me about this Frappuccino of yours”_ , she teases.

“Well, he’s called Eddie, he looks like God chiselled him from the leftover marble once he was done making the angels. He’s a florist, Beverly. How fucking pure is that?” Richie rambles, flopping down onto the couch. If the phone had a cord, he’d be twiddling it between his fingers. 

_“Hold up. This is an actual person? You’re in love with an actual person? Not a drink, or a fictional doctor on a hospital show or some random person you passed on the street?_ _This is an actual person you’ve had an actual conversation with. In real life?”_ disbelief is clear in her voice. 

“I find your lack of faith disturbing”, Richie replies in his best Darth Vader voice. 

_“No offence, Richie, but you have to admit you don’t have the best track record with guys”_ Bev comments.

“I resent that” Richie argues in mock offence. 

_“Rich, when’s the last time you went on a date. An actual date. Not a Grindr hookup or taking a guy home from a bar”_ , Bev asks, not unkindly. 

Richie stays silent.

 _“Exactly. Your usual type is closeted chest-pic guys and sleazy one night stands who sneak out before you're awake. Now you call me and tell me you’ve met a florist of all things? That’s downright wholesome, Rich! When are you taking him out? Are you doing dinner or something?”_ Bev asks excitedly. 

“Well…about that. I’m actually calling to ask you for help” Richie reveals, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck.

 _“Oh, no”_ , Bev intones. 

“It’s nothing bad! I just… I kind of panicked when I tried to talk to him and now I’m being blackmailed”, Richie drops the bomb all in one breath, then holds the phone away from his ear, tensely waiting for the inevitable blow up from mama-bear Bev. 

_“WHAT?!”_ , Richie flinches despite being prepared for the screech. 

“Well, it’s more of an amicable blackmail, if I’m honest. Downright friendly, almost”, Richie attempts to placate her.

 _“What the fuck is amicable blackmail”_ , she asks incredulously. 

“Basically two guys he works with are helping me ask him out. One of them is a fan of yours, actually!” Richie exclaims, hoping it’ll distract her. 

_“Really? That’s adorable!”_ Bev squeals. Richie silently pats himself on the back for successful derailing her ire. 

“I told him you’d say that!” Richie tells her, vindicated.

 _“Is he there? Can I say hi?”_ Bev asks.

“No he freaked and left the room as soon as I told him I was calling you” Richie explains.

 _“I love him. Tell him he’s my son now”_ Bev says, completely serious. 

“Will do, anyway, he’s marrying his boyfriend so I’ve offered monetary assistance. But he wants you to design their wedding suits. I’ll pay you for your time, obviously.” Richie crosses his fingers hopefully.

 _“Rich… As much as I want to help you, you know I don’t do menswear anymore”_ , Bev shoots him down gently, voice dripping with regret. 

“I know! But you’ve been talking about trying it again for over a year! And isn’t this the best way to test it out? With someone who loves you so much that you could dress him in a puke green tuxedo and he’d still be thrilled with it?” Richie needles her.

 _“You know what? Fuck it. You’re right! Tell my gay son I love him and he can consider this my wedding gift”_ Bev declares, voice determined.

“Yes! Thank you Bevvy! You’re the best. I’ll be with you in an hour with like, twelve burgers!” Richie tells her, fist thrown into the air in victory.

 _“Get yourself something too”,_ she says in a way that has Richie unsure if she’s kidding or not. 

They say goodbye and hang up. Richie gets up to call Mike and Stan back in. When he opens the office door, Stan stumbles in, clearly having been leaning on the door. Mike catches him before he falls and they both smile sheepishly at Richie. 

“How’d it go?” Mike asks, as if they hadn’t just been caught eavesdropping.

Richie just grins widely at them.

“Looks like you’re having a Bev Marsh wedding”, He tells them. 

Stan launches himself forward and Richie finds himself being hugged tightly. Only for a second though, as Stan pushes back and straightens himself out, buzzing with excited energy. 

“Time for me to hold up my end, then. Let’s get back to work”, Stan returns to his board, all business once again.

“Operation: Reddie is back on track” Mike jokes, clapping Richie on the shoulder.   
  
  



	3. Reasons to Date Richie Tozier.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Stan launch Operation Reddie.

As Eddie made his way to the surprise _‘mandatory staff meeting’_ he scanned the email he’d been sent one final time.

_‘Dear All Staff._

_There will be a mandatory all-hands meeting in the top floor conference room at four o’clock this afternoon. We kindly ask that you do not speculate or discuss the potential topic of the meeting amongst yourselves._

_This meeting is of the utmost importance and has a very delicate subject matter._

_See you all at four!_

_Management.’_

Surprisingly, the staff were all listening to the gag order. Eddie had tried to sneakily broach the subject a few times, but he was met only with blank stares. He’d come up with a few theories on his own though. He thought maybe Mike and Stan would derail the whole meeting to present the entire staff with two napkin samples that looked exactly the same and demand that they take a vote on what should be used at their wedding reception. Again. Or maybe they’d be told by management that Henry Bowers, the worlds creepiest security guard, had finally been canned. Eddie knew there’d been multiple complaints from customers and staff alike about him following people of colour around the store and demanding that women submit to frisking to prove they weren’t shoplifting. Fucking creep. Eddie wasn’t sure how he’d managed to keep his job this far. Even his dad being the head of security shouldn’t give him as much slack as he got.

What Eddie wasn’t expecting, however, was to be the only person in the room aside from Stan and Mike. The couple were sitting at the end of the long conference table; hands folded primly on the table top with identically unreadable expressions on their faces. Eddie pauses in the doorway to take in the scene.

“Oh, am I early?”, Eddie asks, double checking his watch.

“Not at all, please sit down”, Stan replies, gesturing to the seat beside him.

Eddie obeys, shutting the door behind him. He sits down cautiously and waits for either of his colleagues to explain what was happening. They just stared at him with that odd expression. 

“Is everyone else late or something?”, Eddie asks, with a somewhat forced laugh.

“Nobody else is coming, Eddie” Mike replies with a weirdly stiff smile.

“Right…am I being fired?” Eddie asks, already panicking. Florists weren’t exactly in high demand right now. If he was fired he’d lose his apartment, he’d have to move in with his mother again. He’d have to go back in the closet and back to forcing bullshit pills down his throat three times a day. His panic must be obvious because Stan and Mike’s blank facades finally crack. Mike’s face twists into devastation and Stan rushes to reassure Eddie.

“No! God no, Eddie! Never! Please don’t ever leave us, good florists are so fucking hard to find”

“Before you got hired the florist was a white, middle-aged mom who took a flower arranging class in nineteen-ninety-seven”, Mike told him, eyes haunted by the memories of disappointed brides and ugly bouquets.

“Oh, good. So what’s all this about?” Eddie asks, breathless with relief, pressing two fingers over his wrist to monitor his now-slowing heart rate. He clenches the fabric of his apron in his other hand to stop himself from reaching for an inhaler that wasn’t even there anymore.

“I…Uh” Stan begins, then looks to Mike for help.

Mike, without breaking eye contact with Eddie, picks up a little remote and points it at the projector in middle of the room. Eddie turns and watches as an image flickers to life on the screen. Once it’s focused enough he sees his customer from earlier in the day (Richie?), smiling shyly. Eddie turns back to Mike and Stan, a question clear on his face.

They both seem suddenly desperate to avoid eye contact, completely absorbed in the screen as Mike clicks another button on the remote.

The words **‘REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD DATE RICHIE TOZIER’** materialise above the photo, written in bright pink.

Mike clicks the remote again before Eddie can ask another question. The image changes with a- “Is that a fucking star-wipe?” Eddie asks, incredulous.

“We didn’t choose it” Mike shrugs.

“Richie demanded creative control” Stan explains. He doesn’t sound happy about it.

“Right, of course” Eddie mumbles, looking back at the screen.

**‘REASON 1: HE IS NOT DATING A WOMAN, BECAUSE HE IS GAY.’**

Eddie isn’t quite sure what to say as the screen fills with pictures of Richie, presumably ones chosen because the other man thought they would prove his gayness. There’s one of him holding a tiny Chihuahua puppy, a second showing him holding a tray full of fancy, expensive looking cocktails with a little paper umbrella tucked behind each ear. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from lingering on the final one, an action shot of a shirtless Richie waving a pride flag from atop a brightly-coloured float.

“Ahem,” Eddie tears his eyes off the screen to look at Stan, who is focused on a note-card, “ _’As you can see, Richard Wentworth Tozier is gay. Like super gay. Like if Elton John and’_ \- oh for fucks sake” Stan sighs and wordlessly shoves the note-card at Mike. 

“Oh, um _‘Like if Elton John, Freddie Mercury and David Bowie had an orgy, filmed it, and then screened it at Sundance’_ is Sundance gay? Stan, is Sundance gay?”

Stan just shrugs and looks at Eddie, who shakes his head, perplexed.

“I don’t… I’ve never been so I couldn’t say. Maybe?” Eddie offers.

“Weird, now I feel like I have to go to Sundance” Mike mumbles to himself.

“We might be able to afford it after this” Stan replies, ignoring the little confused noise Eddie makes. He just points the remote at the projector again and the next slide comes star-wiping onto the screen. It’s a photo of Richie with the same tiny Chihuahua perched on top of his head as he grins up at it, seemingly not even aware the photo is being taken.

**‘REASON 2: HE’S A DOG PERSON. (UNLESS YOU’RE A CAT PERSON, IN WHICH CASE, FUCK DOGS)’**

“ _‘Richie Tozier, much like Pocahontas’_ Jesus Christ, _‘Much like Pocahontas, has a deep and spiritual connection to animals, who we all know can sense bad people and ghosts and shit. So his (platonic) love of animals and their (platonic) love of him is a sure sign of a good guy._ ’” Mike rushes through this speech as quickly as possible.

“You have to admit, it’s a really cute dog” Stan says.

“Yeah, I love little dogs. When I was a kid, I always wanted a Pomeranian, but my mom never- wait. Hang on. You guys still haven’t told me what the fuck is happening here!” Eddie protests.

Mike and Stan exchange glances, Eddie can tell there’s a silent conversation happening. After about two solid minutes of interesting facial expressions, the couple look back to him in a frightening show of unison, then Stan wordlessly raises the remote again.

“Stan, I swear to god, if you show me one more slide of this guy, I’ll vault over this table and beat you to death with it” Eddie tells him, voice unsettlingly bland.

“…with the table?” Mike asks, eyeing up the furniture. When Eddie just nods, Mike whispers, “ _it’s a really big table though”_ before Eddie glares him into silence.

Stan seems to consider the risks for a moment before Mike gently grips his wrist and forces him to put the remote down. They exchange another glance. Stan shakes his head furiously, Mike nods firmly, Stan deflates a little.

“Fine, ruin the plan””, Stan pouts. Eddie, no less confused, looks to Mike for clarity, or sanity. Mike looks oddly guilty.

“So, Eddie. Basically, It’s… We… You do weddings right?” Mike babbles.

“I do weddings?” Eddie asked, confused by the sudden change of subject.

“Yeah, like you do the flowers for weddings? You were working on one this morning, right?” Mike continues eagerly.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“How much do you charge?”, Mike asks. He elaborates when Eddie just stares at him blankly, “Let’s say for the full package, bouquets, table centres, boutonnieres, aisle decorations. The works. How much?”

“Uh, well, it really depends on what flowers you choose. The most expensive wedding I’ve ever done was ten thousand dollars. But they had some serious extras, like a rose arch, flower petals for the aisle, fresh flowers on the cake. Plus, she had like twelve bridesmaids, it was a fucking nightmare, honestly. I had to hire extra assistants for a week.” Eddie watches Mike’s jaw drop as he speaks, while Stan just nods as if he’d expected as much.

“Ten thousand?! FOR FLOWERS? THEY DIE EDDIE!” Mike chokes out, face rapidly reddening.

“Rich people, man. They want what they want. About three grand is more usual, though.”

“Oh, thank fuck, that’s a little more doable” Eddie is relieved to see Mike’s face return to its usual colour.

“Well, yeah. But you guys know I won’t charge you, right? Like, you’ll have to pay for the flowers, but I’ll work for free, so yours will probably be about two grand depending on how over the top you’re planning on going”, Eddie explains. Stan and Mike just stare at him. Eddie, used to Stan being the cool, collected, sarcastic man that he is, is alarmed to see that he’s starting to tear up. He turns to Mike for help again, only to see his bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

“That means a lot, Eddie. Thank you”, Stan says, voice as watery as his eyes.

“You’re welcome. Is that what all this was about?” Eddie asks, waving a hand at the powerpoint presentation, trying to fit the pieces together.

“No! God no, we wouldn’t even dream of asking you to work for free. Jesus, I feel bad now”, Mike says, grimacing at the photo of Richie.

“About what?” Eddie asks cautiously.

Stan sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s already uncharacteristically messy, as if he’d been pulling at it all day. If Eddie didn’t know any better he’d think the couple had snuck off for a little ‘alone time’ or something. But Stan was way too professional for that.

“Basically, Richie met you today and he’s a little bit in love with you. But, in his own words, his brain stopped working and he couldn’t bust out his _‘patented panty-dropping pick-up lines’_ because of how hot you were”, Stan finally confesses.

“He called you a wrapping paper angel”, Mike adds, not unhelpfully.

“Oh”, Eddie tries to sound nonchalant, as if he can’t feel the heat rising in his cheeks, “Why do you guys care though?”

Mike and Stan exchange yet another glance, a guilty one this time.

“Listen, I know the slideshow was a little much, but it has some good points! He’s a really nice guy”, Stan tries to justify their actions before Eddie even knows what they’ve done.

“Plus, he’s famous!” Mike chimes in again.

“He is?” Eddie looks at the photo again, trying to place the smiling face.

“Seriously? Yeah Eddie. He’s a comedian. He has multiple Emmy awards. He was on SNL for years!” Mike exclaims.

“He’s done like ten Disney movies”, Stan tells him.

“He wrote for South Park!” Mike says.

“He voiced BB-8!” Stan adds.

“HE DID?!?” Mike exclaims.

“Yeah! I thought you knew?” Stan turns to his fiancé with a shocked expression.

“Do you think I wouldn’t have been talking his ear off about it if I knew? Oh, man. Do you think he’d sign my remote control BB-8 if I asked?” Mike asks, eyes wide with excitement.

“I’m sorry, can we get back to what this has to do with me?” Eddie interrupts.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a good guy, really talented, but he’s an idiot”, Stan deadpans.

_“Stan! That’s not helping his case!”_ Mike hisses at him.

“What case!?” Eddie asks, exasperated.

“He wants to date you, but he got to nervous when he tried to talk to you again. So we offered to play matchmaker” Something in Stan’s voice had Eddie doubting him.

“You offered? What’s in it for you?” Eddie asks suspiciously, knowing who Stan is as a person. He was honestly taking a shot in the dark, but the tightening of Stan’s smile and the fact that Mike suddenly couldn’t look him in the eye told him he was right.

“Listen Eddie… you know how expensive weddings are. You said it yourself, just the flowers can cost thousands. We deserve a nice wedding; don’t you think?” Stan asked sweetly.

“Stan… did you whore me out for wedding money?”

“Well, nobody said you have to sleep with him”, Stan defends himself.

“You don’t HAVE to do anything, Eddie!” Mike rushes to add, lightly jabbing Stan in the ribs.

Eddie just stared blankly at the couple for a moment, waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come and Mike couldn’t even look him in the eye, he exploded. His memories of his mother manipulating him his whole life came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. How she’s spent years trying to set him up with women. He thought he’d escaped all that, now two people he considered friends were doing the same thing?

“You’re damn right I don’t! What the fuck is wrong with you two? Some rando offers you money to get a date with me and you just say yes?! Haven’t you ever seen Taken? Because this is how Taken happens! I can’t believe you! This is so unprofessional, not even that, I thought we were friends! Is this all I’m worth to you? To be a whore for some guy I’ve spoken to once who doesn’t even have the balls to talk to me himself?” Eddie rages, standing up and pushing his chair back so hard that it falls over and slides a few feet across the floor. Stan and Mike just stare dumbly at him. Stan’s mouth is hanging open in shock, but Eddie is darkly pleased to see that Mike looks appropriately ashamed of himself.

“Eddie, It’s not like that!” Stan tried to protest.

“Save it, Stan. I’m leaving. Sorry you couldn’t collect my fucking dowry!” With that, Eddie turns around and storms out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind him. Dramatic? Yes? Satisfying? Definitely.

It took almost a full minute for the deafening silence left in the wake of the slamming door to be broken.

“Oh, we fucked up big time”, Mike groans, dropping his head dejectedly onto the table top.

“Do you think it would help if we told him _how much_ money it is?” Stan muses.

Mike lifts his head just to drop it harder.


	4. Yellow Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev and Richie have lunch, she critiques his love life. Eddie is pissed. Richie tries to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Been a while! Hopefully we can get into a little bit of romance after this chapter. 
> 
> ko-fi.com/iamtheunsub

Richie has never felt so out of place than he does right now. He may be used to bustling sets and busy theatres, but standing in the middle of a fashion house? A fashion house packed with gorgeous women getting fitted for equally gorgeous gowns, while he’s cradling a huge bag of food from Bev’s favourite burger joint? Yeah, he feels _super_ out of his element. He sees one of the models staring at him slightly warily, so he can tell he looks just as out of place as he feels. He gets it though, he’s a kind of schlubby looking guy with overgrown hair wearing ratty jeans and a Hawaiian shirt covered in dinosaurs. In an effort to ease her discomfort (not at all because of his desperate need to be liked by everyone he meets), he throws her an awkward little wave and does his best to send gay vibes towards her. When she still looks slightly suspicious of him, he holds the paper bag up and mouths _‘Fries?’_ as obviously as possible, hoping to butter her up with some bribery. The girl’s eyes flicker over the logo on the bag and then light up. She finally smiles back at him and jerks her head eagerly to the left. Richie follows the motion to see a large pink purse tucked away under a chair, he points to it to confirm it’s hers, then throws her a thumbs up.

As soon as her seamstress’ back is turned Richie creeps across the room, doing his damnedest not to hum the Mission Impossible theme tune too loud. He slips a full carton of fries into the purse, careful to place them upright so they don’t spill. He pops back up onto his feet and grins widely at her as she blows him a grateful kiss, he pretends to catch it and tuck it away in the breast pocket of his shirt as he ducks out of the room and carries on down an equally busy hallway.

He walks up and down the hall a few times, peeking into various rooms and dodging around harried looking people carrying bolts of fabric and clipboards. After five minutes of not seeing Bev or even catching sight of her trademark red locks, Richie is struck by the realisation that there’s a high chance of either the food getting cold or him accidentally walking in on a model in a state of undress. Richie admits defeat and approaches the least busy person he can see, a tall twenty-something guy with biceps Richie would find intimidating if he wasn’t wearing a rainbow lanyard. The guy looks like a PA or something and, even being the least busy person in the hallway, he still looks super fucking busy. But Richie promised Bev lunch and he wasn’t feeding her cold fries and melted milkshake, so he approaches the kid.

“Uh, excuse me?” he asks tentatively.

The guy looks up, smile wide and easy even though there’s some asshole dragging him away from his work, “What’s up man?”

“Do you know where Bev is? Beverly Marsh? About yea high”, he holds his hand (and his tray of milkshakes) up to demonstrate, resisting the urge to lower it by three feet for comedic effect, “red hair… owns this label? Should have probably led with that, in hindsight”, Richie laughs.

“Yeah, sure thing man. Does she know you’re coming, or…?” The guy trails off, looking at him expectantly and Richie suddenly realises there must be crazy fans sneaking in here all the time hoping to meet Bev or show her their designs or whatever. Either that, or this kid was close enough to Bev to know not to let any strange men near her after Tom. He feels a little wave of gratitude wash over him, knowing that this kid is looking out for Bev as best he can.

“Yeah, she asked me to bring her lunch. I’m Richie, by the way”, he shifts the tray of milkshakes over so he can hold out a hand for the guy to shake.

“Don Hagerty, nice to meet you. Let me just radio Ms Marsh and see where she’s at”, he replies, reaching up to tap on his little hands-free earpiece and starting a conversation Richie can only hear his side of, _“Don calling for Ms Marsh… Hi Ms Marsh… Fine, Hi Bev… Your friend Richie is here with your lunch?... Yep, tall, glasses, a shirt that I don’t think you’ll like but he’s pulling off pretty well’”_ Richie shoots him a delighted grin and strikes the most dramatic pose he can without dropping the food, Don snorts _, “‘… sure thing, we’ll be right there’._ Sorry about that, Richie. We’ve just gotta be sure, ya’know? Ms Marsh said she’ll meet us in her office”

“Lead the way, Don”, Richie gestures down the hall with a flourish. Don smiles at him, then turns and walks the complete opposite direction.

*

“Ms Marsh, your four o’clock fitting is here”, Richie declares as he throws open Bev’s office door, doing his best nasally New Jersey secretary Voice, a very accurate impression of one of Bill’s ex-girlfriends.

Bev looks up from where she’s bent over a sketchpad, already grinning.

“Oh fuck, are you Richie Tozier?”, asks the guy standing beside her, T-posing with swatches of fabric draped over both of his arms.

“Adrian!”, Don hisses from beside Richie.

“Uh, hi. Yeah, Richie Tozier at your service”, Richie answers the guy, Adrian, sheepishly.

“Cool, I follow you on Instagram”, Adrian hums, Richie can’t really tell if he’s a fan or not and he’s a little thrown off by it. He doesn’t know if he should offer the kid an autograph or an apology. Not that he’d ever offer anyone an autograph after watching Bill do it to a guy who was staring at him in the park, only for the guy to reveal he had no idea who Bill was but that he had spilled something on his shirt and the guy was trying to decipher what it was.

“Why?”, Bev snarks, quick as lightning.

“Ouch! Hey Adrian, you want a burger? Bev just lost lunch privileges”, Richie offers, half serious, the _‘please like me’_ urge rearing its ugly head again.

“Go ahead, I’ll just trash these wedding suit designs, shall I?” Bev dares him, gesturing to her sketchbook threateningly.

“You started already? I only asked you about it like two hours ago?”, Richie jogs across the room, dropping the food on the desk and leaning over Bev’s shoulder to peek at the sketchbook.

“My gay son deserves the best”, she replies matter-of-factly, sliding the sketchbook closer to him so he can get a better look.

“I thought I was your gay son?” Don blurts out, immediately blushing bright red when all of the eyes in the room turn to him.

“Yeah, me too!” Adrian agrees, faux-offended.

“Me three, are you just adopting every homosexual you come into contact with?”, Richie scoffs at her.

“I have room in my heart for all of you, but the room in my stomach for my burger is more pressing. Don, take Adrian out to lunch”, she orders.

Don looks a little surprised at the demand, then he starts flipping through the papers on his own clipboard, “Oh, I’ve still got a million things to do, Ms Marsh, I’m fine”.

“…Adrian, take Don to lunch”, Bev redirects the order after staring blankly at Don for a moment.

“Yes, Ma’am”, Adrian drops the fabric swatches onto the desk and salutes her, already walking towards Don with the determination of a man ready for his lunch.

“Don’t call me Ma’am”, Bev calls after him.

“Yes, Mom”, Adrian chirps without missing a beat, grabbing Don by the hand and dragging him out of the office. 

_“Snarky little shit”,_ Bev murmurs, but the broad smile stretched across her face betrays her fondness.

“So… you’re match-making two of your gay kids, huh?”, Richie asks.

Bev nods, clearly proud of herself, “Yessir. They’re a match made in heaven, Richie”

“A match made in heaven or a match made at Marsh Designs when the boss was bored?”, he teases.

She swats gently at his arm, “Hush! They’re perfect for each other. I’m an amazing match-maker”.

Richie stays quiet, he just raises his eyebrow at her, but she knows.

“Shut the fuck up!” she warns him, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

“I didn’t say anything!” he insists, grinning.

“I’m a good match-maker! You’re just picky as hell!” she tells him.

“I am not!” he protests.

Bev just looks at him in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t believe him, “Richie, you walked out of a date last week after ten minutes!”

“He called me Chee!” he objects, shivering as if the memory haunts him.

Bev deflates a little, face twisting into something like disgust, “…Yeah, okay. You did the right thing and I’m proud of you”.

Richie sniffs delicately and dabs under his eyes with a paper napkin, like a dignified older lady trying to hold back tears, “Thank you. It was very scary, but I tried to be brave”

Bev laughs and reaches into the paper bag to pull out a burger, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite faster than Richie thought humanly possible. She lets out an obscene groan and crams a handful of fries into the small space left in her mouth.

“Hungry?” Richie asks rhetorically.

“Mmm, missed breakfast”, she agrees.

Richie hums understandingly, “Ben was doing his arm workout?”

“Yep, which one’s mine?” Bev asks, gesturing to the milkshakes.

“You mean which one’s gross?” Richie teases.

Bev levels her best glare at him, which would be terrifying if he didn’t believe so strongly in his case.

“Neapolitan shakes are fucking delicious”, Bev growls at him.

“Beverly, you’re clearly overworking yourself, you aren’t in your right mind”, Richie tuts gently at her, reaching out towards her forehead as if he’s going to check her temperature.

“Richard, which one of these is your chocolate-banana monstrosity?”, she asks, completely straight-faced, voice deathly calm. Richie laughs heartily at her and scoops his own milkshake out of the range of her anger and lack of taste. He drops into the empty seat opposite her and fishes his own lunch out of the bag.

“So, you’ve got yourself a pair of wing men working at your boy, huh?”, Bev asks, nodding at the suits she’s lovingly committing to paper.

“Yeah, Stan and Mike are awesome”, Richie tells her, carefully pushing the sketchbook out of the range of any potential food spills.

Bev shoots him a grateful thumbs-up, “What’s their game plan? Talk you up? Casually drop your net worth into conversation?”

“PowerPoint presentation, actually”

Bev searches his face for any hint that he’s pulling her leg and, when she doesn’t find it, she erupts into peals of laughter. Richie takes her distraction as an opportunity to dip his fries into his milkshake without facing the ridicule she would undoubtedly aim at him.

Her giggling fit dies down and restarts several times before she pulls herself together enough to speak again. “You’re such a nerd”, she tells him fondly.

“Shut up! There was no other way, he’s like, intimidatingly hot”, Richie pouts at her.

“You can talk to Ben!”, Bev objects.

“Have you forgotten how I was when you started dating him?” Richie scoffs at her.

Bev’s face goes thoughtful for a second before Richie can literally see the memory come to her, “Oh shit, you didn’t speak to him for three weeks!”, she shrieks, delighted.

“He thought I hated him!” Richie groans, dropping his forehead onto the desk in despair.

“And you didn’t even want to date Ben!” Beverly hoots.

“Exactly! Dial that shit up to eleven and you’ve got how I was with Eddie!” Richie replies, speaking more to the desk than to Bev.

Richie feels his phone start to vibrate in his back pocket and practically leaps out of his chair in a rush to fish it out. He sees _‘Stan the (Wing)Man’_ emblazoned across the screen and answers.

“Stan! How did it go?... What?...Oh… Yeah I- no, no it’s okay…I didn’t think of it that way either…Thanks for trying Stan…Yeah, sure thing…Tell Mike I’ll try to stop by and sign his Star Wars stuff…No, no, it isn’t your fault, man. It was a dumb idea… Yeah, bye.”

When Richie pulls the phone away from his ear he can’t bring himself to meet Bev’s gaze, even though he can feel it burning into his forehead. He’s mortified to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He clears his throat roughly to try and distract himself and stop them from escaping.

“Rich?”, Bev’s voice is soft, concerned. It absolutely makes everything worse.

“It-uh-it didn’t go so well, Bevvy”, he croaks out.

Beverly mercifully ignores how his voice cracks, “What happened?”

“He… Stan said Eddie felt like I was trying to buy him. Like they were pimping him out or something”, Richie answers.

Bev grimaces, “I mean, you have to think about it from his perspective, Rich. I know you got tongue-tied and couldn’t flirt with him, but he might not have even realised you were trying. So when two people he trusts start trying to set him up with a customer in exchange for money? It’d be a little alarming to anyone”.

Richie drags a frustrated hand through his hair, yanking at the roots harshly until Bev reaches over and tangles his fingers with her own instead. The gentle gesture makes Richie feel cared for in a way that has him breaking down completely, finally letting the tears overflow and hiccuping around a helpless little sob.

Bev squeezes his hand tighter and tries to lighten the mood with a joke, just like Richie would have if their roles were reversed, “Oh Richie, honey, please tell me you aren’t crying about a man you met today”.

Richie chokes out a manic laugh, “No, well, kind of, but not really?”

She just waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts up.

“I just, I hate that I got caught up in my bullshit. I didn’t… I didn’t think about how he’d feel, you know?”, Bev nods encouragingly, “I didn’t want to make him feel like that. But I couldn’t talk to him and then I got Stan to help and then it all just… spiralled. I fucked up, Bev”. 

“Yeah, you did”, Bev tells him, refusing to sugar-coat it.

“What do I do?”, he asks her, hoping for some sage advice.

Bev heaves out a sigh and takes another bite of her burger before answering, “I don’t know, Richie. I’d say go apologise to him, but you’ve already proved you can’t talk to the man”.

“Would it be too much if I did the Love, Actually thing? Held up some signs, played a Christmas carol on a boom box?”, Richie pitched, only half joking.

“I mean, it’s March, so maybe hold off on the carols. Notes might be a good idea if you’re too nervous to talk to him though”, Bev hums approvingly. 

“I have ugly handwriting, but I could I draw pictures? Do you think that’d work?”, Richie asks, thinking of Eddie trying to decipher his chicken scratch.

“You just have to find a language that the two of you can speak” Bev muses, using her free hand to take another bite of her lunch. When Richie doesn’t speak up again she looks up to see him with what she calls his ‘thinking face’ on. “Oh no, I know what that look means”.

“The cogs are a-turnin’ Miss Marsh! I need to speak his language!” Richie hoots, gently pulling his hand out of her grasp.

“…Okay? Wait, where are you going?”, Bev yelped, watching Richie cram the last bite of his burger into his mouth and sprint towards the door.

“Grays! Gonna’ go fix things with Eddie!”, he says, as if that explains anything.

“He works at Grays?!” Bev exclaims.

“Yeah! Fanciest flowers on the market!”, Richie agrees, doubling back to plant a goodbye kiss on her forehead.

“What were you even doing in a swanky department store?” she calls out, trying to picture Richie surrounded by the white marble and boujee (and very breakable) merchandise of the most expensive store in town.

“Sorry Bevvy, didn’t catch that! Gotta go, love you byeeeee!” he crows over his shoulder.

*

Eddie’s been ignoring the dinging of his work tablet for the few hours, unwilling to read anymore of Stan’s apology emails. Seeing Mike orbiting as close to the floral section as he could while making puppy dog eyes was bad enough as it was. The problem with being the only florist in the store was that his dramatic storm-out was negated by him having to return to work right away. Still though, Eddie was proud of himself for managing to find an aggressive way to put together floral arrangements to try and get out some of his anger. So he stripped the thorns off of roses viciously, glaring at Mike every time he was in eye-shot and ignored the dinging of emails coming in.

_Ding. Ding. Ding. Ping._

Eddie sighs in relief at the slightly different notification alert, finally having something do to other than prep work for his next bride. He swipes open the tablet (still ignoring Stan’s messages) and opens up the customer requests email to see a new one with the subject line _‘ASAP PLZ I AM IN THE DOGHOUSE’._ One large bouquet of purple hyacinths, yellow roses and white tulips. It’s the weirdest fucking mix Eddie’s ever seen, but with the rush fee it’s an easy hundred-dollar order that’ll only take him twenty minutes, so he emails the customer back to let them know it’ll be ready within the hour and asking if they want a message written on the card.

Exactly twenty minutes later, Eddie’s tying a white ribbon around a huge, mismatched bouquet when a follow-up email comes in. He snatches up a blank card and the extravagant fountain pen he’d splurged on for precisely this reason. He swipes open the email and starts to copy down what the customer asked for without really taking it in. He makes it about ten words in, missing even his own name, before he pulls back and reads the message over. 

_‘Eddie, I’m sorry. It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, but I did. I’m owning up to that. Pulling Stan and Mike into this mess was a shitty move on my part and I’m sorry (again). They’re good guys and they fucked up by helping me, but the blame should fall on me. I practically bribed them. I did bribe them actually. I got too nervous to talk to you because you’re, like, intimidatingly good-looking (that part is on you) and instead of acting like a normal human being I went fucking nuts because I was so terrified of losing my shot. Wait, is there a word limit for this? How big are the cards? How small is your handwriting? Anyway I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I fucked up and I’m sorry._

_\- Richie Tozier_

“Uh… hi?”

Eddie whirls around to face the speaker and sees his customer from that morning and the idiot from the PowerPoint standing there.

“I’ve-uh- got an order to collect for Tozier?” he stammers, shoulders hunched and making him look disarmingly small.

Eddie stares at him blankly for a second, trying to comprehend the balls on this asshole, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Um, no?”, he replies, more of a question than an answer.

“Your creepy fucking PowerPoint didn’t work so you harass me through my fucking ordering system?” Eddie howls at him, alarmed by how shrill his own voice is.

“Wow, you swear a lot”, Richie can’t help the delighted little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Fuck you!”, Eddie shrieks, snatching up his ribbon scissors and pointing them at Richie, who immediately throws his hands up in the universal gesture for _‘I come in peace’_.

“Woah! Jesus! Alright, alright, I’m sorry! I was just trying to apologise!”, he baulks, taking a step back.

Eddie just stares at him, openly confused, “Apologise? By having me make myself a bouquet?”

Richie ducks his head and mumbles something too quietly for Eddie to hear. When he just cocks an eyebrow, Richie repeats himself. “I was trying to speak your language”.

He’s bashful in a way that Eddie didn’t expect. He was nice enough that morning, a little gushy about the girl he was buying the perfume for, but harmless enough. Then he’d been goofy and awkward, but still mostly fine when he’d ran off on him later. The fake staff meeting really was where shit went off the rails for Eddie. So to recap, he was cute, he was awkward, he was a creepy fucking weirdo and now he was having Eddie make an expensive bouquet and rambling about languages? Eddie thinks he can be forgiven for clutching the scissors a little tighter.

“The flowers”, Richie says, as if that explains everything.

Eddie looks away from the other man for a second to examine the flowers. He still doesn’t get it.

Richie pushes his glasses up his nose before trying to explain. He’d been hoping Eddie would get it right off the bat. “Uh, shit okay. So, purple hyacinths for ‘I’m sorry’, white tulips for forgiveness, which I realise now is a little presumptuous but I’m an optimist at heart. Then the-uh- the yellow roses for-”

“Friendship”, Eddie interrupts, finally getting it.

Richie nods, relieved that he got the meanings right, “And new beginnings. Again, really optimistic. But I was hoping you’d be willing to start over? I think I’m getting used to how hot you are so I could probably hold enough of a conversation to start a friendship. Or I could close my eyes, whichever works.”

Eddie doesn’t respond, just glancing back and forth between Richie’s hopeful little smile and the flowers.

Richie’s smile fades again, “Or I could just leave you the fuck alone? Yeah, okay. Listen, I’m sorry. This was dumb. I’m just gonna go”, Richie tells him, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and dropping a few bills on Eddie’s counter to pay for the flowers. He’s careful not to get too close to the scissors Eddie’s still brandishing, though his grip on them is somewhat looser now. He throws the florist as non-threatening of a smile as he can manage and then turns to leave. He’s about ten paces away when Eddie calls out to him.

“You think I’m hot?”

Richie turns on his heel so fast he stumbles and almost falls over. Eddie’s still standing behind his counter, but the scissors are tucked into the front pocket of his apron. He’s looking at Richie with open disbelief.

“What? Are you kidding me?” Richie asks, incredulous.

“…Are you making fun of me?” Eddie asks, shoulders square but voice unsure.

“Eddie… I literally couldn’t hold a human conversation with you this morning because you had a rose petal in your hair and I was fucking _jealous_ of it”, Richie exclaims, pushing as much sincerity into his voice as he can manage.

_“Oh”,_ Eddie breathes out, he can feel a flush rising in his cheeks.

“Yeah… So, you’re beautiful, I’m an idiot. Think we’ve covered everything?”, Richie asks. Eddie nods dumbly, “Cool, see you around, Eddie”, Richie lifts his hand in an awkward little wave and walks away again.

He heads out through the perfume department, smiling at Mike when he sees him with a customer. By the time he makes it out the front door, Richie has resigned himself to the fact that he can never set foot in this fancy-ass department store ever again. He pulls out his phone, ready to call Bev and commiserate, when he hears a now-familiar voice again.

“Make it up to me?”

Richie turns to look at Eddie standing there, still wearing his apron, a little breathless from chasing after Richie.

“What?” Richie asks.

“You made me feel like an object, or like a little kid who couldn't make his own decisions. It was fucked up. I don't forgive you yet, but" Eddie just thrusts out his left hand, a yellow rose clutched in his fist, "New beginnings. Make it up to me”.

Richie silently takes the rose, he knows the awestruck look on his face must be obvious, but he can’t find the strength to wipe it off.

“Okay. Yeah, I can definitely do that” he breathes out, relieved.

Eddie grins at him, walking backwards towards the store again, “Cool, call me and we can discuss terms”.

Richie cranes his neck and watches Eddie disappear back into the crowded store. Once he’s out of sight and it doesn’t seem so embarrassing, Richie brings the rose up to his face to smell it. He notices a white ribbon tied around the stem with a phone number written on it. Ignoring the stupid little grin he can feel stretching across his face, he takes a photo of the number, not trusting himself not to lose it, then calls Bev to tell her to add two more wedding suits to her sketchbook. 


End file.
